


is this a kissing book?

by clavicular



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: College, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Future Fic, Geeky, M/M, Roommates, Star Trek: TOS, Star Wars - Freeform, The Princess Bride - Freeform, firefly - Freeform, seriously so fluffy i could die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-17
Updated: 2013-04-17
Packaged: 2017-12-08 18:50:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/764801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clavicular/pseuds/clavicular
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"I'm not the Buttercup of this relationship," Stiles says. "And you are definitely no Westley."</i><br/>Or, five times Scott tried to woo Stiles using geeky references.</p>
            </blockquote>





	is this a kissing book?

**Author's Note:**

> My eternal thanks to hieroglyphical and lastwingedthing for the beta and words of encouragement, and a nod to yarnzipangirl for telling me which Star Trek series Scott might be into. 
> 
> This fic contains a lot of references. There's a run-down at the end, but hopefully even if you're not familiar with them the gist will be apparent from context.

 

It’s two weeks before college starts, and Scott and Stiles have been moving boxes and furniture into their new apartment all day. Nerves are fraying, patience is short, and more than once Stiles threatens to set a mountain ash perimeter around Scott’s room. _I swear to god, Scott, I’ll do it. Just let me catch your eyes flashing._ As if _Scott's_ the one who went on a fifteen minute tirade about packing tape to their new landlady. Stiles is never particularly generous in frustration, though. Scott hears him muttering darkly about wolfsbane bullets, but he’s pretty sure Stiles is kidding about that.

 

...Mostly kidding.

 

At the end of the day, they prop the TV up on boxes in the tiny space that passes for a lounge room and collapse against the opposite wall. They're going to need a couch eventually, and an actual table for the TV. Stiles insists he does want to be able to access the books in those boxes some time in the near future. It doesn't seem like a priority right now.

 

"Ugh," Stiles says, throwing an arm over his eyes. "Pass my phone, would you? I'll order pizza."

 

Scott looks at Stiles, and then at the kitchen bench where Stiles' phone is lying. Scott _is_ closer, but only marginally. Trust Stiles to take advantage of a technicality. He rolls his eyes as he drags himself to his feet.

 

"As you wish," he says.

 

He throws the phone over. Stiles catches it, frowning.

 

"I'm not the Buttercup of this relationship," he says. "And you are definitely no Westley."

 

"What's that supposed to mean?" Scott leans back against the bench and hopes his legs don't give out. He definitely _feels_ like he's just been Mostly Dead for the better part of the day.

 

Stiles just shakes his head, relenting with a grin. "Nothing. Will you get me a drink while you're up? I could really use one."

 

Scott rolls his eyes again, more affectionate this time, and gets two beers out of the freezer. Today feels like a drinking together kind of day, even if the alcohol does nothing for him. He sets one bottle down beside Stiles and Stiles punches in the number for the pizza place.

 

"As you wish," Scott says, smirking.

 

Stiles gives him the finger.

 

 

 

 

Pining would be pathetic. Also stupid, and completely useless. Scott _isn’t_ pining. What he has with Stiles is enough - more than enough, it's exactly what he wants, and he's not looking for anything else. It's just that he... would. If Stiles asked him, he would.

 

 

 

 

Four AM on a Wednesday a few weeks into the semester, Scott finds himself trying to persuade Stiles that sleep is a valid and necessary life choice. It's futile in the long run, but when Stiles has been awake for 46 hours and counting, he has to do something.

 

"That's not due for two weeks," he points out. "I know because I checked your calendar. It can wait!"

 

Stiles waves that off. There are dark circles under his eyes.

 

"Way ahead of you," he says, gesturing to the papers strewn across his desk.

 

Rather than following his gaze, Scott stares pointedly at Stiles’ hands. They’re shaking. Stiles ignores him.

 

"There's been some weird disappearances on campus," he explains. "I'm looking into it."

 

Scott frowns, tilting his head to examine the printouts. They're mostly from social networking sites, with the occasional tabloid newspaper scan. He can't see any police reports.

 

"When you say 'weird disappearances',” Scott says, slowly, “do you mean of plant-life?"

 

Stiles swallows. "Some were statues!"

 

Scott sighs. "I'm pretty sure werewolves aren't stealing the campus gardens."

 

"No, of course not," Stiles says, rifling through the papers. "I just have to figure out what _is._ "

_And the phone calls to your dad, asking if he needs any help with his cases?_ Scott wants to ask. Like some people are stress bakers, when Stiles is feeling overwhelmed he investigates. If there's nothing to look into, he'll find something, and zero in on it with terrifying, chemically-fuelled concentration.

 

"You have to sleep at some point."

 

"And I will!" Stiles says, avoiding Scott's eyes. "At some point."

 

If Scott calls him on this, there'll be some flimsy reason he really _has_ to do it, and Stiles will stubbornly refuse to give. They'll both know it for the excuse it is but Scott won't be able to talk him out of it. Scott has no idea how to fix that, so he just gives Stiles an exasperated smile.

 

"Sometimes the needs of the one..." he starts, but shit, how had that quote gone?

 

Stiles knows what he’s getting at though. He looks horrified.

 

"You're a shame to the name Trekker, you know that?"

 

Scott shrugs sheepishly. He'd only watched those films at Stiles' insistence, and it was a capitulation he'd long regretted.

 

Like he can tell exactly what Scott's thinking, Stiles sighs. "I don't care, you're my best friend, which means you _have_ to like Star Trek."

 

"Deep Space Nine wasn't too bad," Scott concedes. He grins when Stiles makes his Sometimes Your Taste Physically Pains Me face. "If you were asleep, you wouldn't have to hear me talking about it."

 

"If you'd kept the promise you made after the _first_ time we had this conversation I wouldn't have to hear about it either.”

 

"Okay, new deal: I won't talk about Deep Space Nine as long as you sleep at least four out of every twenty four hours. Okay?"

 

Stiles turns stubbornly back to his computer. "The longer you stand there talking to me, the longer this will take."

 

Scott throws up his hands and leaves. He turns the light off on his way out though, ignoring Stiles' grunt of disapproval. Stiles doesn't get up to turn it back on, and Scott counts that as a victory.

 

Twenty minutes later, the steady tap of the keyboard in Stiles' room peters out. Scott pokes his head in and yeah, Stiles has passed out on his desk, an arm flung protectively over his laptop. Without giving himself time to think better of it, Scott goes over and pries the laptop from his hand, pushing it safely onto the middle of the table. Then he bends down, pulls Stiles' arm across his shoulders and carries him to bed. Stiles' body is warm against his side, and Scott tries not to think too hard about that. He’s done this before, carried Stiles to bed when he couldn’t make it on his own, but last time they were fifteen and drunk, back when werewolves were still a myth and Scott never caught himself staring at Stiles' lips and thinking _what if?_

 

He dumps Stiles unceremoniously on top of the covers and then shoves his feet towards the end of the bed. He's about to go when Stiles blinks blearily up at him.

 

"It's okay, go back to sleep," Scott whispers.

 

For a moment Scott thinks he's going to protest, but he just pulls a pillow under his head and settles back against it.

 

"That line," Stiles says vaguely, "You butchered that line. How can you call yourself a Trek fan... friend? A Trek-friend."

 

He stares up at the ceiling and giggles to himself. It's a lot like when they were fifteen and drunk, actually. Scott had forgotten how Stiles is always fine right up until the moment he crashes. He’s grateful Stiles doesn’t reach that point often.

 

"The needs of the one," Scott says seriously, "outweigh the needs of the many."

 

He resists the urge to brush the hair out of Stiles' face.

 

" 's cheating if you googled it," Stiles mumbles.

 

Scott laughs softly. "Youtube. Come on, I even paused in the right places."

 

And the way Stiles looks at him, just before he shuts his eyes... well, it's stupid to wonder. Stiles is practically unconscious. It doesn't mean anything.

 

Scott wonders anyway.

 

 

 

 

Three weeks later, Scott is curled up miserably on the couch holding an ice pack to his head while Stiles yells down the phone line, trying to find someone to complain to. Unsurprisingly, the club that threw them out doesn't care that they were protecting people, and the police station keeps directing him to a sea of online complaint forms. Arrested for trying to help... some things never change. Scott's more worried about the bruise on his forehead that doesn't seem to be healing, though. Maybe he should call Deaton.

 

"Screw you too," Stiles says to what Scott assumes is a dead line. He gives up his pacing and drops onto the couch beside Scott, shoving the phone back into his pocket.

 

"Yeah, you'd think they'd be grateful for all the breaking and entering and property damage," Scott says, grinning at Stiles from under the ice pack.

 

"We saved them from an angry dryad bent on ominously unspecific revenge! I don't think a little gratitude is out of the question."

 

Technically Scott had done most of the saving, but since Stiles had done most of the research, bailed him out of jail and didn't even say "I told you so" about the  vanishing plant-life, Scott isn't about to bring that up.

 

"Sure," Scott says. "Just... we probably shouldn't go back to that club for a while. A long while." Possibly ever.

 

Stiles looks around the apartment. Scott's shoes have been thrown haphazardly across the room and what's left of his shirt is draped across a stool by the kitchen bench. It's dripping blue ectoplasm on the carpet. There's also a small collection of beer bottles at the foot of the couch, since Stiles had declared he needed a drink or six after the day he'd had.

 

"Whatever. Our party is better anyway," Stiles says.

 

Scott stares at the blank TV screen.  

 

"Yeah. The dress code's easier and I know all the steps."

 

He taps his fingers on the arm of the chair. He's still not looking at Stiles but out of the corner of his eye he can see that Stiles is looking at _him._ Hecan feel the blush creeping up his neck, andhe adjusts his hold on the ice pack in an effort to hide it. He's not sure how successful he is. Maybe he can blame the head injury.

 

"You want to watch Firefly?" Stiles asks after a pause. There's something overly casual in his tone, and Scott can't just laugh this off.

 

He plans to surreptitiously skip 'Shindig', but Stiles steals the remote without giving him the chance.

 

Sitting through Zoe and Wash’s post-coital cuddling scene could be the most awkward three minutes of Scott’s life. He spends those minutes staring determinedly at the television and refusing to acknowledge Stiles' presence, but it doesn’t really help. Based on Stiles' raised eyebrow afterwards, he thinks Stiles might have spent the scene watching him.

 

 

 

 

The bruise on Scott's head improves slowly over the course of the week. Scott is kind of freaked out at first, but Deaton doesn't sound worried, just says to give it time. In a way, it's almost refreshing to have a minor injury take more than a few minutes to heal. Stiles is less than impressed when Scott says so, though.

 

They're both heading into their first round of major assessments, and a lot of their free time is spent studying. The lounge room becomes the designated work space, and it quickly ends up covered in a layer of textbooks and study notes. They fight over whether or not the TV gets turned on - Scott likes to have something going in the background, but Stiles finds it distracting - and compromise by playing endless loops of shows they both know by heart with the volume turned down. Star Wars gets put on a lot.

 

One night, after they've both been staring at their books for something like eleven hours without a break, Scott closes his laptop and throws his pen at the ground.

 

"I'm going for a walk," he declares. "I'll be back with ice cream."

 

Stiles looks up, startled out of his reverie. The motion dislodges a pencil from behind his ear.

 

"Did you say ice cream?" he asks, and makes a noise of longing that is, frankly, obscene. "You're my hero, you know that right?"

 

Scott laughs and gets to his feet, grabbing his wallet off the top of the TV on his way out.

 

"Yeah, yeah," he says.

 

"I love you!" Stiles calls over his shoulder as Scott opens the door.

 

And Scott... pauses. He shouldn't. He really shouldn't. The timing's terrible, there must be a hundred better ways to do this. He didn't even realise he'd _decided_ to do this. But he turns around anyway and locks eyes with Stiles across the hallway.

 

"I know," he says.

 

Then he vanishes through the door before Stiles has a chance to process what he just said.

 

 

 

Scott spends most of his walk freaking out and the rest of it panicking. He almost forgets to get ice cream, but he passes a corner store on his way back. Which is lucky, because he's pretty sure Stiles wouldn't forgive him for returning empty handed, ambiguous and geeky declarations of feelings or no.

 

It takes about five minutes of staring at the apartment door before Scott can bring himself to open it. He immediately regrets his burst of courage when he finds Stiles still sitting exactly as he had been before he left, staring back at him.

 

"Um," Scott says. "Hi."

 

"Hi," Stiles says.

 

Scott heads for the kitchen. He puts the ice cream on the bench and grabs two spoons from the drawer. He’s hyper-aware of everything, from the feel of the cool metal in his hand to the scuffling of Stiles’ feet on the carpet, but he still jumps when Stiles comes up behind him. He spins around, expecting a verbal tirade, but Stiles just… stands there. Arms folded, mouth open, silence is getting more pointed by the second. Scott rubs his neck.

 

"Um," he says. "Right. So, I. Yeah."

 

He makes a helpless gesture at Stiles. It might, if you were feeling generous, mean something like 'have' and 'feelings' and 'sorry'.

 

" _I know,_ " Stiles says.

 

Scott winces. Yeah, okay, maybe he could have done the whole communication thing a little better. But they’ve always been able to read each other, is the thing. Even with all their kidding around, Scott knew he’d get it. Scott’s palms might be sweating, his pulse might be spiking, but this is _Stiles._ Scott’s sure down to his core that no matter what happens, they’re going to be okay.

 

“You really…” Stiles starts, but he’s talking to himself and he looks like he already has the answer. He takes a hesitant step forward, unfolding his arms. “Because that’s…” An incredulous smile is spreading across his face. Scott’s heart skips a beat. “But you know, right?”

 

And yeah, Scott’s pretty sure he does. He reaches out, fingers snagging in Stiles’ shirt, and Stiles pitches forward. He laughs, clumsy and eager as he sprawls against Scott. Scott wishes he could keep this moment. Their faces are barely inches apart and wow, this is really going to happen.

 

Then their lips meet, and no, _this_ is what he wants to keep. Stiles tastes of mint and a hundred things Scott hasn’t had time to catalogue yet, and he smells overwhelmingly familiar. Even the warm press of his body isn’t so new. He kisses Scott with fevered determination, like he wants to do this rightbut keeps forgetting in his enthusiasm. It’s somewhere between focused and messy and Scott can hardly keep up. He curls his arms around Stiles’ waist and drags his teeth slowly over Stiles’ lower lip, trying to let Stiles to know they have time. And they’ve always been able to read each other; Stiles gasps and relaxes into him. He’s still setting the pace of the kiss, but the frantic edge is gone, replaced with a different kind of urgency. It’s heat and intimacy and the low buzz that’s always under Stiles’ skin, and Scott could do this forever.

 

And then Stiles pulls back, staring at Scott in horror. Scott’s insides go cold.

 

"Star Trek," Stiles says.

 

Scott blinks.

 

“‘The needs of the one...' Does this mean you're a Kirk/Spock fan? Because I've got to tell you, buddy, I'm not sure we can get past that."

 

He looks absolutely serious, like it’s a huge betrayal and he can’t believe Scott would do this to him. Scott should probably try to be reassuring, since this seems important.

 

He bursts out laughing. It’s the most supportive thing he can manage.

 

“No, dude, it’s so _boring,_ ” Stiles says. “Everyone and their pet donkey is into it. If you’re going to start caring about Star Trek, don’t start there. What about Spock and McCoy? They had the whole angry sexual tension thing going on. Or Uhura and Chapel, they had some good scenes together. Kirk and McCoy?”

 

Scott drops his head onto Stiles’ shoulder. He’s still laughing, but maybe it will soothe the affront rolling off Stiles anyway.

 

“Uhura and Spock?” Stiles tries.

 

“Stiles,” Scott says into his collarbone, “I’m not going to start caring about Star Trek.”

 

“You have the worst taste.”

 

Scott lifts his head and meets Stiles’ indignant look with a grin. In the background, lightsabers hum softly on TV.

  
“You think so?” he asks.

 

“Definitely.” Stiles runs his knuckles over the nape of Scott’s neck. “But I - how does it go? ‘I don’t mind so much.’”

 

It should take Scott a moment to place it, but he’s seen the Princess Bride too many times. He laughs.

 

“Are you going to kiss me again or what?”

 

Stiles rolls his eyes.

 

“As you wish.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so! References!
> 
>  **The Princess Bride:**  
>  *The title, "Is this a kissing book?" - the unimpressed grandson suspiciously asks his grandfather this at the beginning of the movie. The grandfather says one day he might not mind so much, but promises to skip the kissing bits.  
> *"As you wish" - _"When he was saying "As you wish", what he meant was, "I love you."_ I'm pretty sure this is a famous line or at least it's a repeating thing throughout the movie.  
>  *"I don’t mind so much.” - at the end of the book, the grandfather cuts off vaguely, and the grandson asks what happens. "Ah, it's kissing again. You don't want to hear that," his grandfather says, and the grandson admits that he doesn't mind.
> 
>  **Star Trek:**  
>  *"The needs of the one outweigh the needs of the many" - In Wrath of Kahn, after sacrificing himself to save the ship, Spock tells Kirk that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few or the one. In Search For Spock, Kirk goes to some pretty extreme lengths to bring him back to life. He succeeds, but Spock's lost his memory. At the end of the movie, they have this conversation:
> 
>  
> 
> _Spock: My father says that you have been my friend. You came back for me._  
>  Kirk: You would have done the same for me.  
> Spock: Why would you do this?  
> Kirk: Because the needs of the one... outweigh the needs of the many.  
> Spock: [pacing] I have been and ever shall be your friend.  
> Kirk: Yes. Yes, Spock.  
> [...]  
> Spock: Jim. Your name is Jim.
> 
>  
> 
> It's amazing and I ship them really hard. (Also somehow "I have been and ever shall be your friend" didn't make it into this fic??? WTF, me!)
> 
> *So yeah Stiles' view that Kirk/Spock is awful is not my view at all. I just thought it would be funny. 
> 
> **Firefly:**  
>  * _I like our party better. The dress code's easier and I know all the steps._ \- as far as I know, this line is not at all iconic, and it's the most obscure reference in here. But yeah basically it's just pillow talk from a scene where Wash and Zoe are cuddling in bed together after sex. 
> 
> **Star Wars:**  
>  *"I know" - Han's response when Leia tells him she loves him (and her response to his same declaration later). Come on guys, it's such a famous line!  
> *Lightsabers. Because lightsabers. 
> 
> I, um, think that's it! This fic took me way longer to write than it should have but I had so much fun with it. I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
